


Two of a Kind

by orphan_account



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-03-20 19:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13724565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: With a witcher arriving in Toussaint to save it from the terrorizing beast, another actor enters the stage. Clearly hiding a secret herself, Manon will be an useful asset to the witcher’s cause, helping him and his presumed dead friend Regis to stop the murdering and solve the mystery surrounding the duchy. And maybe she’ll be able to reunite with a long forgotten friend on the way to their goal…





	1. Chapter 1

Fanfares and cheering emanated from the crowds as the young knight entered the arena. Holding his head and sword high to greet the spectators only increased the noises in their volume – drowning out the conversation Manon just had with the duchess. It hadn’t been important anyways, the usual courtesies regarding the tourney and Manon’s generous donation. With a polite nod of her head to the monarch, the black-haired woman turned her attention to the young man, who was now kneeling down, declaring his dedication to the young lady-in-waiting - Vivienne was her name? – sitting on the other side of the duchess, earning him a rather shocked look from the patroness of this year’s tournament. Manon only rolled her eyes as she swirled the wine in her goblet and finally took a sip from it.

 _Always with their ridiculous pomposity._ One thing she’ll never comprehend.

The portcullis was opened and the shaelmaar stepped into the arena, thus finally beginning the fight. Manon pitied the creature – being poked with halberds and humiliated with those bells around its tail. And now it was surrounded by jeering viewers, overwhelmed, abased and tortured by this knight, only for their entertainment. _And they use_ us _to frighten children._

Continuing sipping her wine languidly, the woman didn’t immediately notice the problem at hand – the shaelmaar was free of its bells and attacked its distracted opponent. Only when the duchess and her entourage leaped to their feet did she look down, the knight in his shining armor was lying in the dust, the cheering suddenly turning into terrified gasps. Putting her goblet away – it was empty anyway – Manon got up on her feet as well, stepping closer to the edge of the platform. Whatever was happening know, she didn’t want to miss it. Maybe they’d finally learn from their mistakes?

A white-haired man clad in a dark leather armor and two swords on his back jumped into action, stepping in for the wounded. Manon narrowed her eyes, knowing _what_ he was. The duchess’ men had been successful after all. They’ve found the legendary witcher Geralt of Rivia. The duchess had told her about her plans concerning him. But she had never met him in person - yet. And she wasn’t looking forward to it.

Annarietta’s ladies-in-waiting were whispering excitedly about the two new fighters in the ring – another knight-errant had followed the witcher. Having a new pair of opponents the creature was taking its first chance to attack them, which led Le Papillon to comment on the new fight in his usual rhyme form.

Manon tried her best to shut him out - another thing she disliked about the tournament. She was far more interested in the witcher’s skill set. She was lucky to have never seen a witcher in action. But it surely was intriguing and educational. She studied him as she was back at sitting beside the duchess and her entourage. How he waited and dodged, somersaulted out of the way before he’d get hit by a strike or crushed under the shaelmaar. The other knight tried his best to keep up, yet he lacked the swiftness of ‘the White Wolf’.

Strike after strike, until the beast was down, yet still alive. Again fanfares sounded and Le Papillon declared the victor – Geralt of Rivia. The duchess, growing impatient after the witcher did nothing - clearly not used to this kind of situation - commanded him to ‘finish the deed’. The answer he shouted in return surprised Manon, to say the least: “Monster’s no thread! No need to kill it!”

And with that he put his sword away. The pike men arrived at their call, making sure they creature would stay down, and Anna Henrietta rose, signaling her entourage and Manon to follow her. She led the way down the steps and over to the entrance to the arena, guards bowing deeply as she went by. No one said a word as the five woman emerged the three men, the older knight supporting the young one to stand. Manon kept behind the rest, she wasn’t eager being face to face with the witcher. Her duty as one of the biggest sponsors of this year’s tourney already demanded her to accept the duchess invitation, meaning to follow her around until she was dismissed. Manon was rather thankful, that the wardrobe of the duchess and her ladies resembled hers in its dark colors. Her black dress swayed as she walked over the dusty ground, whirling up the sand. Her wavy black hair reached the midst of her back. The only spot of color in her appearance was the dark red stone of the amulet she wore around her neck, bobbing with every step she made. Manon tried her best to look as if the heat and the burning sun were clashing with her dark wardrobe., even though she was completely fine. She didn’t need to stand out any further.

“Geralt! Magnificent! Breathtaking!” The duchess, flowery as ever.

“Your Grace…”

“We knew that to summon you was a brilliant idea. We are delighted, ravished, to have struck upon it.”

“And I’m truly… honored.”

Manon had to refrain herself from laughing. How refreshing it was to finally meet someone who has not mastered the court etiquette. His exchange of niceties was rather… rusty. But the duchess didn’t seem to bother. Luckily she dismissed them, Manon included, to make sure the young knight would be brought to the medic’s tent. The metallic-sweet scent of his blood made its way into her nose, tickling her nerves. But she ignored it, as she had done many times before. Yet the sensation was always thrilling. Following the three ladies-in-waiting, she passed the witcher and took in his scent – sweat, leather, herbs and something else she couldn’t quite grasp, something faintly flowery.

The group left the arena and accompanied the bleeding knight to the medic, where he was received by the personnel. Manon didn’t fail to notice the obvious longing looks the knight gave his beloved lady. She also didn’t miss the coldness she tried to emit in return. Saying their goodbyes, Manon and the two nameless ladies-in-waiting returned slowly to the duchess, while Vivienne returned to her duties as the patron. 

Not engaging in the ladies gossip about the knight – Guillaume de Launfal – and lady Vivienne, she listened to the other noises of the tourney grounds – the birds chirping, the children’s laughter, the cheering, the clashing of swords… Manon preferred it to listen to live, rather than actively take part in it. Sponsoring this much money had been a mistake, she already regretted. Had she known Annarietta would rope her in for all these events, she would have decided differently.

After a short walk, the three arrived timely to the duchess and the witcher leaving the arena towards the guard’s tents to speak with Damien de la Tour. Another terribly charming person Manon didn’t look forward to meet, only this time because of other reasons...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I have another fic running, but I couldn't wait...  
> Anyways. This obviously takes place in the Blood and Wine dlc. Starting right in the beginning.  
> Manon can be a little exhausting, but I love her regardless xD, or because of that? Hmm..  
> Can you guess what secret she's hiding? And what kind of relationship she has with the Captain of the ducal guard?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, feel free to leave comments! I love to read them :) and your feedback would help me so much  
> Also: finally done with the exposition :D

“Ah! The very man we would entrust with these tasks – Damien de la Tour, captain of my personal guard.”

The group of five people arrived at the guard’s tents, the captain in front of it, ending a conversation with one of his men. Turning to face the approaching entourage, Damien eyed everyone near his duchess vigilantly. “Your Grace. Witcher.” He paused, catching sight of the black-haired woman clad in silk of the same color. “Lady Manon.” He inclined his head.

Being aware of the duchess’ and the witcher’s curious glance, Manon returned his gesture. “Captain de la Tour.” She’d rather not get too personal and address him with his first name. She preferred the distance she kept. No need to reopen old wounds, at least those he had gotten from their last encounter. She still had the impression that he wasn’t over her rejection regarding his approach on her. Yet she was sure that she had made perfectly clear that she wasn’t interested in him.

Dismissing his eyes and those of the other’s on her, she moved over to the bench which was in front of one of the tents and sat down. She was tired of all this strolling behind the duchess. Actually, she was tired of this company. She craved another glass of wine – or a keg if she had to take this any longer.

“Sorry to have to tell you, but the guardsmen handling the last victim’s body—“

“I know already. The creature in the cellar of Corvo Bianco – was it the Beast?” The witcher had been there? Manon had heard about the third body and its location, but…

“No, a bruxa,” Manon remained her bored demeanor, but she was alarmed, “a kind of vampire. Not the Beast, but tied to it in some way.” While the two men began bickering, Manon stilled her thoughts. A bruxa knowing the Beast… She hoped, _whished_ , that it wouldn’t mean what she thought it did.

The duchess, the captain and the witcher began to discuss the matter concerning every Toussaintois – the Beast. Manon had heard of it, how brutal and terrifying it was. She had heard about the speculation about its appearance – a cat-like creature, an invisible kobold and more bizarre portrayals – and about its murders. However, no details. Only who and where and when. Hence her curiosity.

She attentively listened to the back and forth between Geralt of Rivia and Damien about the known killings. Her face might have looked like a mask of boredom, but one aspect struck a nerve, rang a bell – however you wanted to put it. Something Damien had said about Crespi. ‘He had died of wounds inflicted with claws, not a weapon. Blows of great force.’ Then the same with du Lac: ‘Not hands, but claws killed Ramon du Lac. The wound was deep, clean.’ Manon reminisced what the captain had said about the witnesses of Crespi’s death. He had been at a feast and then suddenly was gone. No one took notice of his departure… Maybe it was only a coincidence. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. The third victim might give more away. But Manon had a bad feeling about these murders and especially about the murderer.

The woman returned her attention to the three standing in front of her. The two ladies-in-waiting, standing behind her, were also quite interested in what they had to say as they were completely silent.

“Found a coin pouch on his body. Contained florens, dating from various times, hailing from different provinces of the empire.”

“De la Croix loved coins, true, but had no patience for numismatics.” Damien, oh so strong-willed.

“Lots of similarities between the victims. All the bodies were found in strange places, under extraordinary circumstances. Seems the murderer, whoever or whatever it is, has some meaning to convey.”

The witcher might have a point, true. But Manon saw more behind it. Corvo Bianco, the bruxa, the unnoticed murders, the claw marks _and_ the message behind each killing. Together they slowly created a picture of the murderer – of what the Beast is. And Manon didn’t like it. Not a bit. She had to do some research, investigate on the matter herself. If a higher vampire was in town, testing the peace and quiet between humans and vampires with those murders, she would like to say a few words to them, before everything was ruined.

If only the duchess would dismiss her. How long did she want to play this game?

If they wanted to save this Milton they should hurry. With Damien leaving, Manon grew more and more impatient. Annarietta was addressing the witcher, and then called out for their horses. And with a rather unladylike departure – ripping her skirt of growling – she and the witcher were gone on horsebacks toward the city. Manon took her chance and passed the plump servant, heading towards a secluded place where she could talk quietly to the birds. Something she hadn’t done in quite some time.

Whispering to the variety of winged creatures on the wooden fence in front of her, she told them to look out for anyone approaching Milton de Peyrac-Peyran – especially for a higher vampire. They shall get her if anyone suspicious is close to that man. Flapping their wings, a good dozen was taking off, leaving her to her thoughts. She needed to find that vampire – quickly. She only hoped it was no one she knew from the past. Orianna was out of the question. Manon might not always get along with her, but the redhead was not the type to suddenly murder old men.

Gripping the hem of her dress, she hurriedly made her way over to where her horse was taken care of. Mounting the black steed, she galloped back to town as the sun slowly sat for the night.


	3. Chapter 3

She had to find that vampire as soon as possible. The last thing she wanted was having raving Toussaintois on her heels in search of vampires when they find out about the one killing their beloved knights.

With a pull on the reins Manon stopped her horse and jumped from its back when she had arrived the palace gardens. It was already dark. A servant took the reins from her and she hurried over to one of the trees, where she spotted some familiar-looking birds. Acting as if she was scanning the surrounding for something, she listened to the birds’ whispers. And she was right – they had found Milton. He was in one of the greenhouses. She had been in them before – they were just up the hill. Maybe she was lucky and get there before the Beast. Quietly she thanked them and ended her play.

Passing lots of lords and ladies – only a few were still sober – Manon tried her best to listen to their conversations. Maybe one of them had heard something that could be useful for her. But sadly they were only talking about the festivities and the duchess with her witcher, who were also trying their luck finding Milton before the murderer.

Another turn and she— She was roughly shoved aside when one of the men she had tried to pass stumbled to the ground. People were screaming and shouting ahead – from the direction she was headed. But she didn’t care about the greenhouses anymore, the matter of her interest rushed past her – he had pushed the man into her. He was clad in a black leather coat and had black hair – more she couldn’t make out in the turmoil. It didn’t take her long to turn around and run after him – her dress restricting her. She was too slow to catch him in this outfit, but she couldn’t turn into smoke right in front of the townsfolk. Looking around her, she noticed the white hair of the witcher closely behind her – he must have scared up the vampire – for a vampire he was. Something Manon was not happy about. Another reason to hurry up and find a spot where she could turn.

The vampire went further straight-ahead and thus got closer to the cliff, Manon turned sharply left and hid behind a wall until she was sure no one was watching her. Then she breathed out, rolling her shoulders, and turned into pitch-black smoke. Feeling free and unrestricted, she soared up, over the wall and over the water. The witcher had somehow managed to follow the vampire, as he was slightly ahead of her. She had to hurry if she wanted to get to the stranger before him. Her senses tingled as she was approaching the white-haired man. She could hear his heart beating, his rapid breath, but she left him alone. Soaring over his head, she arrived at the warehouse the vampire had just entered. As did the witcher, who hadn’t noticed her - yet.

While Geralt entered through the door, Manon looked for another way in. Now that she had to deal with the witcher, she didn’t want to expose her true identity to the vampire in front of him. She would rather wait until the two men were done with their quarrel. Having found an open window, she slipped inside, kept to the dark and stayed in her shapeless form – she wouldn’t be noticed that way.

The scene below was rather interesting. The witcher carefully drew his sword, acting as if he was sneaking up to his prey – whereas _he_ was the actual prey. The stranger stood on a scaffold below her, not noticing her – at least he didn’t show it. Stepping to the edge of it he called down: “I’m here.”

“This belong to you, maybe?” The witcher lifted a disembodied hand. He must have gotten it in Corvo Bianco…

“It did. But you may keep it. I’ve a new one. I do not know you. I’ve done you no harm. Yet first you butchered a bruxa who was dear to me. Now you pursue me. Why?” Manon did neither recognize his voice nor his appearance. Luckily.

“You’ve killed four innocent people. At least.” So, Milton de Peyrac-Peyran was dead. A shame.

“And you? How many innocents have you cut down?” A good question. Witcher’s weren’t known for their sympathy regarding ‘monsters’. Yet he had let the shaelmaar live…

The witcher seemed quite agitated by the question and stepped a bit forward, holding his head high. “I don’t kill innocents. Murderers, though? You bet.”

Manon tried to be still and didn’t move an inch. But their conversation unsettled her. It wouldn’t take long until one of them would attack, and she would definitely have to act. Otherwise the duchess’ witcher would be dead and the vampire could continue his murder series. Manon did neither know what to do nor would she want to interfere.

The vampire below tensed. Any moment now…

“I’ll soon be done. I’ve but one left. And you, should you not stand down.” He started pacing and Manon soared higher.

“And once you’re done, intend to leave, go kill somewhere else?”

“No, I intend to live.” Manon was right after all. His claws grew longer and he vanished, just to reappear behind the witcher. “Happily ever after.”

The fight was initiated and the female vampire didn’t know what to do. She could interfere and reveal herself, save the witcher’s live. Or she could stay where she’d watch them fight until one was down – the witcher most likely. Her discord showed in her movements as she hovered from one side to the other, watching the fight below. Ugh, she had to do _something_. But they were equal – surprisingly. Maybe, she didn’t have to do anything… But the witcher couldn’t kill the vampire and she would _not_ do him the pleasure. She wouldn’t dare.

Geralt then lunged out, but the vampire was already gone. He had changed his tactic. Manon sensed him circling the witcher like a hunter his prey, sneaking up at him. But the witcher didn’t find him, turning around with searching eyes. It was time. Time for Manon to step up and end this… this chaos. She moved closer trying to get behind the witcher to block him from the deathblow, but then she sensed another vampire. A familiar feeling overcame her. She knew this one.

Grey smoke streamed inside through one of the windows and quickly gathered in front of the Beast. Catching him mid-motion. The newcomer took the blow the stranger had designated for the witcher and thus stopped him from killing Geralt.

“You were to stay where you were. Regenerate.” The smell…

“I know you’re in trouble. I can help.” The voice…

“I’ll help myself.” She knew him…

The two vampires struggled. The Beast still filled with bloodlust.

“No. He’s my friend.” And with that the Beast was gone. Because the other had asked him to…

Because _Regis_ was not only his friend, but also Geralt’s.

Manon had stopped dead in her tracks and then retreated surprised to the shadows. _Regis_. The Regis she hadn’t seen in _ages_. The same Regis she had broken up with several centuries ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it! ^^


	4. Chapter 4

She had listened to them – hidden from their sight. Listened to their happy reunification, unnoticed. A witcher and a higher vampire - friends. Regis. She still couldn’t believe it.

But she had learned several interesting things while listening to them chat. Apparently Regis had undergone a great regeneration – Geralt had been very surprised to see his friend alive. Furthermore, the Beast’s name was Dettlaff and Regis owed him his condition. They were also bonded by blood, which did indeed make things more complicated… It also explained several other things Regis mentioned. But the most important outcome of this conversation was, that Regis and Geralt would work together to stop Dettlaff, without killing him. At least Regis didn’t want him to die. Understandable, given their relationship.

Horses whinnied and their hooves clattered on the pavement. Manon could hear the rider’s armor-plates rattle – the duchess must have sent her knights to ensure the witcher’s safety or to gather up his body. The two men noticed them as well.

“Hear that?”

“The posse. Knights must’ve tracked me here.”

“I’d prefer they not find me here. I’ve makeshift quarters at Mère-Lachaiselongue cemetery. We’ll meet there.”

This prompted Manon. Mère-Lachaiselongue. She knew this cemetery. Had been there several times, actually. A good place to go for a walk – tranquil and eerie. But would she follow him there? Just step back into his life after all they’ve been through? After what she had done to him?

As he became smoke again, she followed him through another window outside. Yet, she lingered and watched him flying into the distance. She needed to talk to him. But not tonight. She had to go back home and think. She needed to sort things out. Regis had changed so much. He was another person compared to what he had used to be as a blood-addict. She had changed as well, to be fair. It had been quite some time after all. And what he had said about this Dettlaff and about Geralt, the past that connected them.

Out in the open, he would only notice her. She might be good in hiding, but not _that_ good. It would be for the best to visit him another time. When things were clear and Manon wasn’t that confused anymore. It had been a long day. Some rest was advisable.

So instead of following Regis to Mère-Lachaiselongue, she traveled to her home. A rather small estate, yet exquisitely fostered by her household – a handful of guards, a cook, a gardener and two servants. She had chosen them personally and trusted them all with her whole heart. Before she came into the fore of her guards, she turned back into her solid form and stepped then around the corner. Approaching the two men at a measured step, she inclined her head and managed a small smile, which the men returned with a quick bow. The door was opened for her and she entered the yard of her home. Flowers, olive trees and rosebushes adorned the place. The lanterns were lit and the guardsman beside the door to her house was straightening when he saw Manon. She greeted him the same way she had done with the two outside. “Lady Manon.”

She entered her house and was greeted by one of the servants. “Lady Manon. I trust the tournament was pleasant?”

Smiling amused, Manon answered: “Inés. You should know me better by now. When did I ever take joy in events like that?”

The young woman giggled. “Pardon me. I couldn’t resist.”

“I suspected as much. Now, did anything happen today while I was absent?”

The redhead shook her head. “Nothing, Madame. Shall I prepare a bath for you?”

“Yes, please. And be so kind to ask Susanne for one of her nightcaps. I could use one tonight.”

With a nod of her head the woman was gone and Manon went upstairs into her bedchamber, where she would stay pondering until the next day.

* * *

 

The birds woke her late that morning. Along with the bright light that fell though her windows. With the help of the strong alcohol and the warm water Manon had fallen asleep in no time. But not before she had come to a closure regarding Regis and his friends.

She would go and pay her old friend a visit. If this Dettlaff was in trouble, she would gladly help Regis helping him. Her home was endangered by the murders and she would not let that pass. Not if she could help it. Besides, she had nothing better to do, and she would love to talk to Regis. Ask him about what had happened after she had left. And to tell him she’s sorry. Truly sorry for what she had done.

Manon got out of bed and began to change into a dark red dress. The red stone of her amulet supplemented it perfectly. She grabbed the brush from her vanity and began to crew out her silky black hair. A soft knock on the door. “Come in.”

Inés carefully opened the door, a letter in her hand. “The duchess sent this for you, Madame.”

Sighing, Manon let the brush sink and the redhead handed over the delicately folded piece of paper. The duchess’ seal was unbroken. While Manon opened the letter, Inés began to do her lady’s hair – she loved those complicated hairstyles of the women at court.

Reading the letter rather hurriedly, Manon felt another sigh escape her body. This time it was relief. Solely a formal excuse for her sudden departure the day before. No invitation.

“Is everything alright, Madame?”

“Yes. All is in order.”

Inés had finished her creation and looked sadly into the mirror before the two of them. Only her reflection looked back at her. “I wish you could see yourself. You are so beautiful.”

Manon didn’t look up at the other woman as she snorted and refolded the letter. “Looks aren’t that important. It’s the personality that’s important. And in that case, I’m rather ugly, I fear.” She ran a hand over the hem of her dress and stood up. Now eye to eye with her handmaiden. “You, my dear, are beautiful in both aspects.” She cast a small smile and walked around her to the door.

The servant was quick to follow her downstairs. “But Madame-“

“I’ll be leaving now. Please make sure everything goes well today. I wouldn’t like to come back to a burning house.”

“Of- of course. When will you be back?” The servant’s face was white as the wall behind her.

“I don’t know. Maybe at the end of the day, maybe tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late. And don’t wait for me.”

“Yes, Madame.”

The two woman went outside, the guard at the door greeted them both as they passed him. Julien, the gardener, was already at work, waving Manon with a scissor in his hand. She wished him a good morning and Inés opened the great door for her. “Have a nice day, Madame.”

“You too, Inés.” Manon slipped outside and made her way towards the palace gardens to pick up her horse, which she had left there the night before. Hopefully it had been treated right.

* * *

 

Riding slowly on her horse’s back, she faced the setting sun. It had taken her longer than planned at the palace. She would soon arrive the cemetery. Hopefully the witcher wouldn’t be there.

It turned out she was indeed lucky. No witcher in sight. Letting her horse grass between the tombstones, Manon examined the place. Everything was quiet. No traces of living. At least for the ordinary senses. The witcher had been here, not long ago – his scent was still around. Along with Regis’ – he still used that perfume. They had been here between the tombstones, but they came from… the crypt.

If she were human, her heart would skip a beat. And would get cold feet. She had missed him, yet she was scared of their reunion. It might not be as happy as the one he had with Geralt earlier. After all, she had left him. Times back then hadn’t been that good and she deeply regretted some of her choices. Especially turning away from him, when he had needed her the most.

She opened the door carefully and descended the steps as silently as she could. She listened if anyone was in there besides her, but no sound was audible. Why was she so cautious? She was visiting Regis. He wouldn’t attack her, would he? She straightened her back and smoothed her dress. She was acting ridiculously. More resolute did she approach the chamber before her – knowing how much noise she made.

The room she entered was lit with candles sitting on sarcophaguses. Spider webs and mushrooms were scattered over the floor and the walls. No one here. She turned around. Above her was a balcony. Ascending the steps, she examined the bookshelves, the pictures and the skeleton with the helmet, the big kettle and the poor bed. A simple mattress looking like it had seen better days. And it all smelled like Regis. She read some of the book titles of those that lay on the table besides the medical instruments. Then she sniffed the concoction in the kettle – something horrible. Yet she didn’t touch any of Regis’ things. Only the chair that she pulled out and sat on, while she waited for her old friend to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more information about Manon.  
> Hope you have still fun :)


	5. Chapter 5

She had started to flip through one of the books lying on the table after she grew tired of waiting. Wherever Regis was, whatever he did, he needed a lot more time than she had expected. Sighing Manon closed the tome – her curiosity about Temeria’s future was satisfied. With every passing minute she started to get even more nervous. It felt wrong to be here – in Regis’ home. Or whatever he considered it to be. She shouldn’t have invaded his personal space like that.

Anxiously she twirled her amulet around. Turned it until it reflected the low candle light, making the red stone shimmer. She sighed again. Maybe it had been a bad idea. Manon rose to her feet and descended the stairs down to the sarcophagi. She would wait a little bit more. Only a moment, until she had read who was buried here… A silly excuse, but she couldn't help herself.

* * *

 

Gabrielle du Lemotte-Beuvron. Knight. The last tombstone left for her to read. Many illustrious figures were entombed in here, a wild mixture of professions and names.

The dim light of the candles flickered as an air draft went through the crypt.

Manon stopped with her reading, knowing that she wasn’t alone anymore. But she didn’t turn around, she was too afraid to face him. Actually she didn’t know what to tell him. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm herself. Past images of Regis flickered in her mind. He had changed _so much_.

“I haven’t been mistaken after all, it appears.” He stood behind her, a few feet away.

A smile flashed over her lips as she opened her eyes again, staring at the gravestone to her feet. It’s good to hear your voice. I have missed you. I am sorry. She should say all of this, yet she couldn’t. She was too much of a coward.

“I hope you don’t mind my sudden intrusion.” Too cold. After all these years she greeted him with coldness and distance.

“Not at all. But, I have to admit, I would have preferred a premonition.” Manon’s hand clutched the amulet around her neck, as if to check if it was still there. Mustering all her courage, she turned, her dress rustling and raising dust. She steeled herself, making herself look indifferent, collected. A look she had mastered over the years. 

Up close he looked even more different. He looked tired and sad. Manon had to admit seeing him like this – so exhausted – pained her. She might be younger than him, but he hadn’t aged like her at all. But the grey hair suited him. It emphasized his intellect.

“If I had known that I would see you under these… circumstances, I would have announced myself. Yet I fear time is scarce and much is at stake.” She clutched the pendant even tighter. “Dettlaff, your friend. I want to help you, the witcher and him. I don't want to stand by and watch while others look after my home.” Smoothing down her dress, she let go of her amulet, and started wringing her hands, waiting for his answer.

Regis was silent for a moment, contemplating her offer. He watched her intently while he clutched the strap of his bag – filled with herbs and potions. His dark eyes wandered down to her amulet. The red stone reflected the dim light of the candles behind him. His eyes narrowed briefly.

“You still have the amulet I gifted you.” His voice was barely a whisper.

Her eyes went wide for a moment – she was surprised about this sudden change of topic. But she collected herself and whispered back: “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

His grip tightened – his knuckles went white. “I thought-“

Something held him back. Why wouldn’t he speak? Frowning Manon watched him intently. His gaze dropped to the ground, he looked exactly like all this years ago when something had bothered him. Another smile flashed over her lips. It was good to see that not everything had changed.

The door above was opened – its creaking audible for her ears. Regis had heard it too, his eyes shot back up - at her. “Geralt is a friend. He won’t attack you. If you are willing to stay and discuss your offer with us.” He spoke quickly and hushed, giving her the chance to leave before the witcher would see her. It was appreciated, yet unnecessary. Manon had expected that he would sooner or later find out about her. And Regis hadn’t given her an answer yet.

Shaking her head, she stepped closer to him – positioning herself at Regis’ side. While his scent filled her nose, her eyes lingered on the gateway. What was the witcher doing? Reading the tombstones?  Regis shifted at her side. “Let us go upstairs. I need to add an ingredient to a concoction.”

Guiding her over to the stairs with an outstretched arm, he made sure he didn’t touch her and as soon as he was sure she would follow he took the lead, not looking back at her. Manon wondered what was going on in his head. She missed being able to read him like in former times. But they have become strangers.

“What kind of concoction is it?”

“Oh, you’ll see soon enough. It needs two more ingredients.”

Steps approached the hall. The woman unconsciously stepped closer to the cauldron, gaining a surprised side-look from Regis who was still stirring the liquid. But Manon didn’t notice, she was too occupied with the ascending witcher. She might be ready to reveal her origin, but that didn't mean she wasn't ill at ease.Geralt was looking from her to Regis and back at her again. Oh, how she hated this kind of talk.

“She’s a friend, Geralt.” Regis didn’t look up from his work. Manon kept watching the witcher, who did the same with her.

“Of what sort?”

“I want to help you. Against Dettlaff.”

“Didn’t answer my question.” Geralt crossed his arms, not moving from the spot.

“I’m a worried citizen." She tried her best to look innocent. "Oh, and a vampire. A higher one, to be precise. Is that answer enough or shall I turn to prove my heritage?” She smiled, challenging Geralt. The witcher in return glowered at her, tensing.

Regis – sensing the tension between the two – approached Manon and looked at Geralt, giving him a warning look and then her. “Geralt meet Manon Elise Palomer. Manon meet Geralt of Rivia.”

“We’ve already met. Yesterday at the tournament. You fought good against the shaelmaar, _Geralt_.” Saying his name out loud felt like threatening him.

“I didn’t know the duchess would let higher vampires into her ranks.” His face was a cold mask. Not letting any emotion through. Yet his tone said everything. The mistrust, the doubt and the reluctance – like that of a child, who had to do his chores before playing.  

“She doesn’t. I am merely a generous donor.” Manon smiled brightly at the witcher, not showing any effect of his coldness.

Regis watched them carefully, until he chose to end the bickering.“A raven told me you’d acquired the necessary ingredient.”

Geralt chose to ignore Manon as he answered Regis with his full attention, changing his body language – blocking her out completely. “Send your spies after me?”

“My watchers. Were something to go wrong, I could then arrive quickly to help.”

The woman sighed quietly, giving in to this childish acting, and stepped back, letting the men have their discussion while she listened. Whatever their plan was, whatever that ‘Resonance’ brew was… Manon really wanted to help – even if that meant having to deal with a rather prickly witcher.

“Mentioned a last ingredient, too – what about that?”

Regis returned to his brew, yet not without glancing at Manon queerly, and explained: “That, I fear, might prove troublesome. You see, to use the concoction to summon the memories of one, the solution must contain the blood of another specimen of the same species.”

So that’s the crux of the matter. Manon raised her brows at Regis, but Geralt was faster with an answer than her.

“Shouldn’t be a problem. I happen to know a higher vampire who should be willing to help. Right, Regis?” Not even a glance in her direction. The woman huffed and crossed her arms. Yet she was surprised, she was sure Geralt would bleed her and not his friend.

“It’s not that simple, I’m afraid. While you were away I tried my damndest to identify a replacement, but alas, none such exists.” He didn’t seem happy about that. Not at all.

“Regis, if you don’t- I will. I promised my help, remember?” She stepped forward, closer to her old friend, but he declined with a shake of his head.

“Not sure I understand what the problem is. Can’t we just draw some of your blood?” Geralt was as confused as Manon. A drop of vampire blood wasn’t that much to ask for and Manon was willing to give it to Regis. But apparently that would’ve been too easy.

Regis looked from Geralt to Manon, his eyes shimmering in the dark. “The blood must be in an agitated state. As I’m certain you know, higher vampires can change their corporeal shell. As our flesh changes, so does our blood’s chemical composition. To make a long story short, I shall need to induce in myself a state of strong psychokinetic arousal. In brief, madness, rabidity. And that stands to be very, very dangerous.”

Manon sighed. Of course, why would it be easy?  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that it took me so long. I'm currently pretty busy, but I'll try my best and add new chapters when I can.  
> Hope you enjoy !


	6. Chapter 6

While Regis and Geralt discussed the emanating dangers of this undertaking, Manon had begun to pace. One arm slung around her waist, the other one clutched the red stone around her neck. Her glance wandered from Regis to Geralt and after her turn towards the cauldron – reeking menacingly.

Regis was so sure – no, he was convinced – that he’d be the one to give his blood. But she wouldn’t let him, couldn’t let him. Not after what had happened all those years ago. It would be madness to leave him agitated.

“We shall visit Tesham Mutna, an ancient vampire estate. There we will find cages suspended in the air. I will enter one, be confined. You will lure beasts there. Beasts you will then kill.” Manon stopped dead in her tracks, whirling around to face Regis - well, his back - and a slightly uncomfortable Geralt. But her old friend ignored her sudden change in behavior. “The bloodletting should prove profuse. Abundant enough so that the blood’s scent will drive me mad, wild.”

“You are already mad!” Manon had to refrain herself from shouting. He had gone completely mad. Not only because he was ready to do this to himself, but also because he thought she would let him do that. She stepped closer to Regis, ignoring Geralt who was pushing himself off the table, staring sternly into the blackness of his eyes. His black colliding with her russet. Her voice became a threatening whisper, yet her eyes were full of concern. “If you think, I will let you torture yourself, you are terribly mistaken, Regis.”

They continued to stare at each other. Regis was searching for something in her eyes, Manon was trying to make a stand. The witcher grew impatient, he cleared his throat and crossed his arms.

“Tesham Mutna – what’s it like?”

Regis’ eyes shot up at his friend – appearing relieved to elude Manon’s look – and shook his head slightly. His face a mask of shame. Not unlikely, regarding Geralt’s question. Tesham Mutna – Manon knew this place and its history.

“It is a place of torment, a torture chamber. Long ago, shortly after we’d arrived in this world, one among us named Khagmar developed such a taste and lust for human blood that in one night he could imbibe an entire village. This brought trouble on the entire species. Common folk wearied quickly of living in constant fear. They begun to hunt us, seek the aid of mages and witchers in tracking us down.”

Manon still looked at Regis. She couldn’t help but remember her and his past. Regis was never – at none point in his life – as blood lusting as Khagmar had been. Yet she remembered the nights – those bad nights – in which Regis had been so drunk on blood, she had feared he wouldn’t sober up again. She hugged herself, staring at the hem of her dress.

The men continued talking about the estate. Manon continued reminiscing. 

She was ashamed of herself that she thought such unfair things. After all Regis was standing in front of her – maybe not fully recovered, but – abstinent of blood. And he had managed _without_ her help. Because she had been a coward. A _traitor_. She had chickened out when he had needed her most.

A moment of silence fell over the three. A signal for Manon to look back up at the men. Geralt finally spoke: “See no reason to dawdle. Tesham Mutna – take me there.”

Scoffing the woman dropped her arms on her sides. “You accept?! Are you serious? You have the chance to spare him and use me instead, but you are still willing to torture your _friend_?” Her voice rose unwillingly. She was furious. About the witcher, Regis and herself.

The men looked at her like she was the mad one. Regis side-stepped her and approached the table, talking to Geralt – and ignoring her outburst: “One last thing…” He took a small vial out of his satchel. Manon could only guess what it contained by the smell of it.

Quickly she clutched Regis’ arm, stopping him from drinking the liquid. “I will do it. I owe you this much and more.” She focused on Regis face: the shape of his nose, his sideburns, the edge of his hair. She repeated, this time speaking to Geralt: “ _I_ will do it.”

“No.” And with that sharp answer Regis freed his arm from Manon’s clutch and downed the blood. The woman could only watch in horror and shock as Regis shook his head in disgust.

“What was that?” Geralt’s golden eyes twitched over to her for a second – looking worried.

“Blood. The last favor the raven did me. I’ve also taken some sangurium, a solution that sharpens one’s senses of smell. One drop of blood shall smell like a gallon to me now.”

“ _Wonderful_. Just exactly what you need.” Manon continued to curse quietly under her breath. Her head ached.

“You crazy?! You’re a recovering addict!” So the witcher knew? How much exactly did they know about each other? But if Geralt knew, then he had even more screwed up as a friend.

“Bravo, witcher. Finally catching up, I see.” She snarled. This was not at all what she wanted this – whatever _this_ was – to work out. She wanted to protect her city from a blood thirsty higher vampire and not re-addict her long lost love to blood.

“Your outrage warms my heart, both of you, but you must remain calm. I had no choice.”

Manon huffed. “No choice? I offered several times my help. But you chose to ignore me.” She began to pace again. Regis honored her with a side glance, not more.

“As things stand, the die is cast. High time we set off for Tesham Mutna. My head’s spinning already, and you’re starting to smell quite tasty…” Regis began to descend the stairs, Geralt cast her a worried look. A bit of sympathy lied in his eyes. She wondered why all of a sudden.

“And you’re starting to scare me.” Geralt turned and followed Regis, leaving Manon staring after them for a second. Then she shook her head, cursed again profusely and went downstairs. Hopefully things would go well. And if it wouldn’t - well, Manon wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.


	7. Chapter 7

For a while Manon had sauntered some paces behind the two men – not that they would notice, or care. She had used the silence that emanated from the two to think and sulk. Yes, she was offended that they had paid so little attention to her. Maybe she was petty, maybe she wasn’t. She was still not happy about their behavior. How they had chosen to ignore her offer, her help and her sheer presence. They were impolite, alright. But she would not put up with them. Not if she was to be an accomplice. They would have to accept her as one of them and not like a submitting attachment.

Deciding this, Manon easily caught up with Geralt and Regis, who was slowly beginning to swagger from time to time. It wasn’t that far anymore. She could clearly see the ruins in the distance, enthroned on its hill. As both of the men chose to look straight ahead, she rolled her eyes, refraining from baring her teeth. How stubborn could they be?

“Tell me, how long do you – both of you – intend to ignore me?” She waited, looking first at Regis and then at Geralt with risen eyebrows. Geralt glanced at her – nearly looking amused by her question – Regis, on the other hand, was more talkative – which could be accounted for by his tipsiness.

“My dear – we are not ignoring you. We might be dismissive – true – but we have our reasons. You see, we have had this planned before you chose to enrich us with your presence.” He showed her a small smile, which she chose to ignore this time. “At least I had it schemed till the end. Besides, I don’t want to confine you into any of those cages. I made this choice for myself.”

Well, that wasn’t exactly what she had expected, but she would lie if she said she wasn’t satisfied.  Yet she wondered… Regis didn’t want to put her into a cage. After all she had done. They clearly had to talk. Without Geralt - whose eyes she could feel on the back of her head.

“Fine. All I wanted was a decent answer. All I got from you earlier were one-liners – which are, in your case, very unusual, Regis.”

Manon could hear Geralt’s husky chuckle beside her. Regis darted a glance at him, then her, but his indignation quickly turned into a similar chuckle. Manon didn’t smile, she rather kept her eyes on the path before them. They still hadn’t apologized. But at least, they were talking to her.

“Have you been inside Tesham Mutna before, Manon?” She examined the inquirer, brows furrowed. Regis mirrored her former action - looking at the path before them - hands clutching the strap of his bag.

“No.” She looked back into the nightly scenery before them. “I didn’t have a reason. I visited it once, but I remained at the entrance. I’m not looking forward to enter it this time.” She toyed with her amulet, an action that did not go unnoticed by Regis.

“No need to.” It didn’t sound like Geralt was challenging her - more like he was offering her a way out.

She shook her head. They were standing now right at the foot of the hill. The ruins were towering above them. “I promised my help, if you want it or not. I won’t leave again. Because that is the choice I made for myself.” And with that last sentence she addressed Regis, surprise laid in his black eyes. She hoped he would understand the message. His face betrayed only astonishment.

They walked the remaining steps in silence – until Regis announced: “We have arrived. The sacrificial chamber of torture and torment lies underground.” One way to call it – not the most inviting depiction, yet a very fitting one.

Regis walked a bit ahead, leaving Geralt at Manon’s side. She eyed the witcher carefully. Then she sniffed, something was off. The dry commentary aside – Regis didn’t look like he could control him any longer. The potion and the blood were taking their toll on him.

Geralt noticed too: “Sure you know what you’re doing?”

Regis tensed. She knew how he must feel right now – his senses intensified with Geralt here with them, along with the smell of blood coming from the body behind Regis. He put a great burden onto his shoulders.

“I can only hope I do. Please, let’s go? The longer we delay, the less control I shall have of my faculties. I’d really prefer not to hurt you. Otherwise I must ask you, Manon, to intervene and stop me.” He turned his head away, grimacing, as the wind was whiffing Geralt’s smell over to him.

Manon turned to Geralt, concern in her eyes. “We should hurry.” Surely, Manon would stop Regis from drinking Geralt’s blood, but she would not enjoy fighting against him. Thirsty vampires are no fun to fight against – especially those you are acquainted with – very closely acquainted with.

Geralt nodded, looking equally concerned. “You lead.”

Regis stepped aside – revealing the source of the blood odor that had tickled Manon’s senses since they’d arrived. The witcher approached the body, which was splattered with his own blood.

“Scurvers. Must be getting close to their feeding ground”, he whispered.  Next he examined it, while kneeling beside it. Manon folded her hands together, feeling like their time was running out – she did not like letting Regis suffer longer than necessary.

“Correct. I told you there’d be danger”, Regis answered brusquely.

He left them and walked towards the entrance. Currently a wall, yet Manon knew what lied behind. She had opened the ‘door’, had seen the room behind, but she hadn’t entered. The smell that had emerged from inside had been too overwhelming. Her initial curiosity had quickly been stilled then.

Slowly she approached Regis. “Beyond this wall lies…”

“An ancient vampire dungeon. Seen a lot of things in my life. Nothing quite like this, though.” Manon smirked at Geralt. It would’ve surprised her if he had.

“My, I feel honored. A man with such a wealth of experience, yet I’m about to show him something new. Now to open it.” Regis hid his smile – rather poorly.  She had to ask them – one day – how they’ve met. Geralt and Regis. They acted so familiar, they put so much trust into each other. Even though they should have been enemies.

Regis opened the door, red smoke was pouring through his fingers as he used his blood to unlock the mechanism. The blood red sigil appeared – a familiar sight – and the door was open. Again the terrible smell hit her in an instant. The mold, the decay – Manon had to hold onto her countenance, otherwise she would’ve grimaced unprofessionally. The two men nodded at each other before Regis led the way inside.

“How the hell?” The witcher seemed rather surprised.

Without waiting, Manon followed right after Regis, stopping Geralt mid motion. She ignored his disgruntled look.

“It’s an ancient form of protection against unwanted guests. The mechanism which releases the latch reacts only to a higher vampire’s blood.” Regis’ voice re-echoed in the big corridor.

With a sign Geralt ignited a torch, which lightened the dark hallway – unnecessarily. Didn’t witcher see in the dark? Weren’t the cat eyes just for that?

“Tricky mechanism, a vampire hideout – fortified, secured. Must’ve been important to your species once – Toussaint.”

Manon scoffed. “It still is – for some at least.” She continued to look straight ahead. Her eyes followed Regis’ movements.

“It shall always be so.” He turned, glanced at her and turned back again. “During the conjunction, the gate from our world into this one opened upon this land and no other. This was the first place we saw.”

“This place – there’s evil in here. Death hangs in the air.” Manon tried not to laugh. Geralt had chosen to say such a thing while skeletons were dangling from the ceiling, caged or just hang by the neck. Was she tactless for laughing or was it Geralt for choosing this comment?

They made their way down a huge stairwell. Moonlight was shining through a small hole far above them.

Regis answered Geralt, not reacting to her muffled chuckle. “Yes. A great many beings have breathed their last here.”

They arrived in a small room, filled with chests and boxes. Some books were scattered around. Geralt searched through all of them – looting them as he went. He stopped at a book and read the title aloud. Regis, along with Manon, waited at the doorway for him to finish – didn’t he listen when they said they had to hurry?

The next room showed the “clan” symbols – as Regis put it. Well, he wasn’t wrong. The human tongue lacked some of their terms which made it hard to explain things – many things. The Tdet and the Ammurun. Both had left this area. Manon had heard stories about them, some were told her by Regis in the past. Geralt stopped before the third and last one.

“And this one? Which tribe’s this?”

Manon stepped beside Geralt. Her hand gently stroke along the dried color of the glyph, melancholia lied in her russet eyes. Before Regis could answer, she spoke softly: “Gharasham.” The men looked expectantly at her.

“I’m sorry, Regis. Please, continue.” She let her hand sink and stepped away from the wall – suddenly embarrassed.

Regis cleared his throat and glanced from her to Geralt. “The Gharasham. My tribe, Dettlaff’s and  Manon’s. We remained in this part of the world.” Another quick look at Manon and they continued their way, silently, as Regis chose not to reveal more.

A short walk and they were before a rotunda, which was slightly countersunk. They had to jump down to get to it. The men went first, both waiting for her to act – she waited. Just to see what they’d do – offer their help or just stand by. But to her surprise both of them extended their hands for her to grab and hold on to. She accepted them and climbed down – careful not to rip her skirt. Had she known in the morning what the day would bring, she would’ve dressed differently – but anyways, she was no mortal human. The smell was worst down here, it stank of decay and mold. She let her eyes wander through the dungeon. Cages and rubble, skeletons and chains. It truly looked like a chamber of torment and torture.

“Charming place. But… What’re all those cages for? Mentioned one vampire being kept here.”

“They bled human here – to torture Khagmar.” Manon’s eyes were glued on one of the cages, high above her.

“Yes, well… You see, humanitarians is something our ancestors were not.” Regis slurred, quite heavily. They needed to begin. Instantly. “They kept humans here, humans whose blood they slowly let. Khagmar ranted and raged in pain as those… those humans slowly bled to death…”

Both of them, Regis and Manon, looked pained by the mental image of this procedure. Clearly no brilliant achievement of their kind.

“They treated them like livestock, live bait.” His golden eyes glistened in the darkness, as Geralt looked sternly at Regis and Manon, standing side by side.

“I’d like to be able to turn back time, deny it, but alas… I can do neither. Feel shame for my brethren, that is all I can do.”

“True, but it would be of no use. We can’t change the past. All we can do is being better than them.” Manon crossed her arms. She was growing unsettled – she could feel Regis’ tension too.

Geralt examined the cage before him – Khaghmar’s personal one. “Don’t take it so hard. She’s right – nothing you could’ve done about it.-” Regis’ knuckles turned white as they clutched the strap of his satchel - the leather had just creaked and aroused Manon’s attention.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Geralt, but we _need_ to begin.” She turned to Regis’ his face was paler than before, his jaw clenched and he tried to avert his eyes from Geralt.

“Wanted to suggest the same.” The witcher nodded and walked over to them.

Regis, whose discomfort grew with every passing minute, rummaged through his satchel and gave Geralt some components of their plan, the other two he gave to Manon. “I prepared the bait, please be so kind and place it. Ideally at the tunnel entrances – the scent will spread most effectively, then.”

Carefully Manon sniffed at one of them and instantly regretted doing so. Well, to each his own.

While Geralt was doing the one side of the rotunda, she did the other one – carefully placing the bait near the entrance without spilling it on her dress. She really should’ve dressed differently. The coming fight wouldn’t make things better. Inés would give her an earful that was for sure.

As she was done with her task, she met strolled back to the middle.

“Done. What now?”

“I shall enter the cage. You must chain me inside. The bars are made of an alloy that will prevent me from transforming into mist.” Regis was really straining himself. Too much for Manon’s liking.

“Kinda thought you wouldn’t want to.” Geralt eyed Regis carefully as he entered the cage – looking determined to pull this through. Manon went to the other side of the cage’s door, letting her finger tips run over the lock.

“I shall be in great pain, my sole thought being to stop that pain. I cannot know what I will do.”

One part of her was thankful that Regis didn’t let her do it, yet the other part wasn’t happy with his choice, at all. He had suffered enough and yet he chose to do it again, for his friend. Regis had always been so sympathetic - too sympathetic sometimes.

As soon as Regis had entered and suited himself, she closed the door and looked him in the eyes, questioning him. Questioning him about his will and intentions. But all she received was the hard look of a resolute and stubborn man.

In the distance the padding, sniffing and squeaking of the beasts, lured by the bait, was audible. They were coming, fast. The other two heard it too.

“We must hurry. The beasts have caught the scent. Also, my head’s started spinning” Regis sounded rushed.

Geralt hurried over to the other side of the cage and fastened the shackles around Regis’ hands. “And the blood?”

The distant noises began to become big noises. They were close. Manon stepped away from the cage over to where the attachment for its lift was. She waited for Geralt to finish before she pulled the wheel.

“Someone who’s never experienced a vampire’s bloodlust… does not know the true meaning of thirst.”

His words pained her and remembered her of her behavior towards Regis in the past. She pulled the trigger, a straight line between her brows. The cage was hoisted up. Quickly she hid her amulet under her clothes – not wanting to lose it in the fight that was now starting as the creatures emerged through the tunnels.

She felt how her body changed – how it lost its shackles. She hadn’t done this in a long time, a sensation filled her from head to toe.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This chapter will contain gore. I toned it down a lot, but I still want to warn you.  
> Also a small remark before we start:   
> since there seems to be a pretty big discussion about what female higher vampires are supposed to look like in their ‘beastly‘ form, I’ll go with the bruxa-look. If I’m wrong, please feel free to correct me. But while I was doing some research, I learned that Orianna appears like a bruxa (see the ‘A night to remember‘ trailer), despite being a higher vampire. Such as the Queen of the Night (also a higher vampire, that appears in the first witcher game) who looks as well like a bruxa on her romance card. Maybe it’s a thing? That female and male differ from another appearance-wise? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ But I don’t think that higher vampires and bruxae have the same abilities (like turning invisible and the scream), so instead of them, Manon has the ‚usual‘ abilities of higher vampires (like turning into mist). 
> 
> TLDR: I have no idea what female higher vampires are supposed to look like, so I’m rolling with the bruxa-looks.

Monster after monster after monster… Masses of them were showing up in the rotunda, having followed the smell of Regis’ baits.

While Geralt was still focused on Regis, talking something about a safe word – a futile cause – Manon had completely changed. Long claws were embellishing her fingers, her teeth sharp as blades, her eyes opaque and her body structure had now changed into a painfully thin yet very muscular likeness of the former. Her dress, that would normally fit very well, was now hanging loosely around her thin frame. And along with her body, her senses had changed – to a rapidly improved version. She smelled everything: from the bait, to the stench of the monsters, to the mixture of herbs that Regis used to hide his vampiric smell, to the scent of Geralt’s leather armor. Her eyes had no problems with the darkness, for her it was light as day – even lighter. She could hear hearts throbbing, one especially slow – Geralt's… Everything was so _clear_. She had missed this ecstasy, this _superiority_ , but at the same time, she hadn't. Not at all. For it was not all fun and games.

She was rushing forward her first opponent, or more fittingly her first victim – a ghoul. It took her only a simple motion of her hand and the hunched creature was cut into halves - blood spilling everywhere. The next was a bigger one, walking on two feet, its head a deformed mess. It as well was pierced by her deadly claws – but other than the last one, it coughed, screeched and exploded in a mixture of blood and flesh - splattering its intestines all over Manon’s dress. With a growl she moved on to the next beast.

Geralt was just like her slaying monster after monster, not as fast as her, but still very remarkable. The silver of his sword – those spots which were still clean enough – was flashing from time to time as he was making his rounds. One time Manon had been in such a frenzy, she had to stop herself from cutting down the white-haired witcher. Even he had jerked into her direction, sword ready to stab. But besides those little accidents the two of them were making a good job. Efficiently and deadly.

Black mist scurried through the hall. Here and there manifesting only to leave a trail of blood and dead bodies behind it. The longer the fight lasted, the more monsters appeared, it seemed. But they fell one after one. Loosing either against the witcher or the female vampire. Regis crying had become louder and louder, now it was an inhumanly screeching – lusting for blood.

The rotunda was overflowing with blood. Manon felt the ferocity growing inside her, but she was able to cling on her humanity, what was left of it in this state. But the monsters kept coming and Regis’ suffering reached its peak. With a roar, loud and alarming – making even Manon aware – Regis shook his cage, claws clashing against their shackles, and driving away the beasts.

Geralt looked after the last ghoul crawling back to where it came from, while Manon was still at attention – not changing back to her normal form. Even with her eyes glued on Regis’ raging form above her, she could sense Geralt’s eyes on her. He was unsure - maybe even afraid? – as what to do now: she wasn’t changing back.

“Let him down.” For moment it took her by surprise how she sounded. Her normally melodious voice was now a vile hiss.

Still hesitant Geralt moved over to the lever, pulled it and thus let Regis’ cage down to the ground. They were now eye to eye – Manon and Regis. He was tugging at his handcuffs, she grabbing at his fingers, or claws to be more precise. She tried to get his attention, but he was far to agitated, his eyes only on Geralt, who was pulling out a knife and a vial. Quickly he cut Regis’ hand and collected his blood while his friend was crying out loudly. Hissing, Manon stepped back, letting go of Regis’ hands.

As the cage was still appearing very sturdy, Manon decided it would be for the best to turn back into her normal form - so that the witcher could finally put his sword back into its sheath.

Her senses diminished and her body returned to its healthier-looking state. Letting her joints pop and trying to tame her now wildly flowing hair, she turned to Geralt with a calm expression on her face.

“He won’t calm down for a while now. The smell is far too tempting.” She glanced back at the lamenting vampire, pushing and pulling futilely.

The witcher nodded at that, he was as well watching his friend – appearing saddened. “Should take a seat. Waiting’s out best option.”

“Indeed.” Manon sighed heartily.

Geralt got down on his knees and addressed Regis: “Need to hang on a little longer. Blood’ll dry in a few hours. Scent won’t bother you anymore.”

And with that he was back in his own little world – meditating. The screeches didn’t seem to bother him in this state. Shaking her head slightly, Manon approached once again the clawing prisoner – because that was what he currently was. As bad as it sounded, as bad as it made Manon feel. He had taken it upon himself and this was where it had gotten him. It pained her to see him like this.

She knew he wouldn’t hurt her – couldn’t hurt her – yet, she hesitated to reach into the cage. His black eyes were glowing with blood lust. The wildness was written all over Regis’ face. She hadn’t seen him like this since- since a very long time ago. And even then it had been a rarity, despite his nightly _trips_.

With a look over her shoulder she made sure that Geralt was absent, then she reached into the cage, her hand grazing one of the cold metal bars. Regis was backing away, before realizing who – or what – was daring to touch him. His eyes flickered from her hand to her face and then back again. She tried not to make any sudden move, she wanted neither to aggravate him nor to alarm him. Both would end in hurting her hand – besides her feelings that is.

As he didn’t back away any further, she closed the gap between his face and her hand, cupping his cheek. His pitch black eyes were now staring at her. His sharp teeth disappeared – as far as they could – behind his lips. She saw his nostrils flare as he absorbed her smell.

“ _Please_ ,” he hissed. So much desperation was sounding in this single word. He leaned into her palm, repeating his plea. She could see how his eyes quickly scanned the room and landed on Geralt behind her. Again his nostrils flared. Manon’s thumb stroked over his cheek, carefully and lovingly. Oh how she wanted to help him, make him feel better, but she couldn’t. She mustn't.

Instead of freeing Regis, she slowly shook her head. Sadness and grief were filling her whole body. Making her sick. She retrieved her hand through the bars and shook her head once again.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

His eyes went wide, he began to tug again.

“I’ll wait with you. Only a few more hours.” And with that she wrapped her arms around herself and waited, standing in front of the cage, offering her company in case he wished to speak. Even though she knew, he wouldn’t for he had only the blood in his mind.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wanted to wait with posting this, but oh well. Screw it.

Hours have passed. Some in silence, others with Regis’ clamoring. But Manon had waited, watched and listened, her chest tightening with every minute of this procedure. The blood and other gore on her dress, as well as in the whole hall, had dried by now – loosening its intense smell. And with the smell did Regis’ frenzy vanish.

First he had sunken to his legs. Manon had knelt down beside him, but he was still not transforming back. Then after some more time, he had finally tired down enough to change. His breath was slow, his eyes barely open. She had combed through his hair with a hand before waking Geralt with a hand squeezing his shoulder.

“We get you out of here.” The witcher emerged the cage and loosened the shackles. And with this Regis slumped down. Manon quickly unlocked the door and caught her old friend before he could hit the ground.

The witcher stepped beside her as Regis was whispering, his voice sounding so frail: “The concoction…”

Manon stroked his cheek like she had done before, relived that it was over now. “We will take care of it. You need to rest first.”

Regis grunted, while his whole body was shaking.

Geralt agreed to her and helped Manon get Regis back on his feet, wrapping his arm around his shoulder so that he could support him on their way back to the cemetery. “Manon’s right. You can’t finish it in this state. But tell me how, I’ll help you.”

With a sigh Manon added: “ _We_ will help.” Stubborn as ever. As if that would ever change.

* * *

 

They had put Regis on one of the chairs in the crypt. He was still unable to walk by himself, sitting wasn’t much better. His shoulders were slumped down, his head hanging low. His eyes were bloodshot, the veins in his face were visible under terribly pale skin. He looked like death itself.

While Geralt had been adding the missing component, Manon had been stirring the concoction just like Regis told her. As it was done, witcher and woman were looking expectingly at their drained companion.

Geralt was the first to approach the hunched over figure. “Any better?”

“Far from ideal and some time must pass before I fully recover, but yes, a bit better. Thank you.” Regis lifted his head, looking at the witcher who sat before him.

Frowning Manon listened quietly to the men’s conversation. She didn’t feel like taking part in it. Since they had arrived in the crypt she had been feeling tired – rather suddenly. She wasn’t complaining or showing it – she didn’t mean to be tactless in the presence of Regis’ current state. No, she was merely numb. Listening and yet not really listening at the same time. Neither was she lost in thoughts. She was just _tired_.

Geralt and Regis’ soft voices were filling the otherwise complete quietness, beside the crackling of the fire and the bubbling of the potion. Manon watched the bubbles emerge on the surface, stirring them from time to time with a spoon.

“Resonance, it’s ready”, Geralt spoke suddenly louder – bringing Manon back to the presence.

She turned around, timely to see Regis standing up from his seat – still wonky on his feet.

“Are you certain you followed the formula? The proportions were exact, the brewing time precise? This is important. The slightest deviation could cost even a witcher deadly.” Regis stepped beside her, looking skeptically into the cauldron she had been oh so attentively guarded.

“We went through your instruction _thrice._ Trust me, it’s ready.” Manon received a curt nod from Geralt, who added: “Relax. Got some experience with brewing potions.”

“Very well. In that case, let’s begin.” Regis didn’t sound very convinced, but at least the witcher got his consent to do whatever he has to do now.

Manon passed a vial over to Regis, after he had stirred the potion for the last time. He filled the revolting green liquid into the glass and told Geralt to get comfortable on his makeshift bed, before drinking the concoction.

She looked in awe at Geralt’s rapidly changing face – how the veins appeared, how his eye sockets turned dark. And with silent pain, he grimaced until his eyes suddenly turned white. Then he passed out.

“How long will it take? Do you know that?” Manon turned to Regis, who had also watched Geralt silently beside her, before she stepped towards the witcher and made him more comfortable. He was heavier than he looked like. She rolled him onto his back, putting the pillow under his head and straightened his legs. Who would have thought, that she would ever tug a witcher in?

“At a guess, perhaps an hour.” After Regis had taken a look of her face – furrowed brows, dark rims around her eyes – he added a bit more softly: “You don’t have to wait. Go home and rest.”

At that she raised an eyebrow. She was currently the fittest of the three of them. One was unconscious, the other barely from it. Of course, she wouldn’t leave them unguarded. What kind of companion would she be if she would? Instead of agreeing to his offer, she went over to one of the chairs and sat down.

“That is a no”, she said after seeing his confusion. She patted on the seat beside hers – instructing him to sit down as well, before he toppled over.

Regis approached slowly, if from exhaustion or from pushback she didn’t know. Geralt tossed beside them on the mattress, murmuring and grunting from time to time. She wondered what he learned about Dettlaff.

They sat in silence, minutes passed. Manon wanted to speak with him, but she couldn’t think of anything with relevance. She could ask him how he felt, if she could bring him something – but that sounded like a poor excuse of a conversation. Images of his pleading eyes back in Tesham Mutna appeared in her mind. Images of him thrashing in that cage. All that had merely been a few hours ago.

She folded her hands over her lap, the dress was ruined – Inés would be throwing a fit when she saw it. And like that wasn’t enough, Manon stank of dried blood and other gore - she tried not to breath that much.

Suddenly Regis cleared his throat, attracting her attention. Questioningly she looked at his still pale face.

“Thank you for not letting me out of my cage. In Tesham Mutna.” He averted his eyes from hers.

Manon stroked the fabric of her dress smooth, suddenly uncomfortable. “No need to thank me. You would’ve done the same.”

He nodded. “I wasn’t quite myself back then. I didn’t want to- but my instincts told me to-“

She put her hand on his knee, stopping him midsentence. He looked at her with his bloodshot eyes, surprise and something else laid in them.

“I know”, was all she said. Then, after stroking his knee with her thumb, she wanted to pull back, but Regis stopped her by laying his hand above hers.

Manon looked at their hands. She didn’t know what to do. Regis’ fingers gently slipped around hers – as if he was experimenting how far he could go. It was a pleasant surprise, for sure, but unexpected. She dared to look up into Regis face. What she found there took her even more by surprise - if she was not mistaken by what she saw: his black eyes looked _lovingly_ at _her_. They had this special deepness, like they had in the past.

She was confused, _deeply_ confused. Why would he -? At _her -_? Never had she thought she would see this expression on his face again. And like a fool, she felt the tears filling her eyes. She pursed her lips to stop herself from making a complete idiot of herself while crying. She felt the grip around her hand tighten, softly tighten. Regis eyes filled with concern, but she just shook her head.

“I believe we have to talk. Elaborately and _alone_.” And as if to emphasize Regis’ utterance, Geralt thrashed around once again.

All she managed was a nod of her head, before pulling her hand back. She crossed her legs and leaned her head on her elbow, looking into the complete other direction to calm her nerves. She felt a single hot tear roll down her cheek that she caught with her free hand.

She cleared her throat after she had calmed down and turned back to face Regis who was looking hastily away from her. He was still concerned – for no purpose, since she wallowed in self-pity.

The witcher’s turmoil found an end and he began to wake – his breath became quieter and the groaning stopped. And finally he opened his eyes, turning on the mattress.

“Awake at last. You writhed like a squirrel in a snare. I’d begun to fear they were death throes, that’d you’d departed.” Regis turned in his seat, facing Geralt who slowly sat up. He looked like he had gone through hell to Manon.

Geralt grunted. “Sure wasn’t pleasant… but it worked.”

“What did you see?”

Manon was still seated on her chair, looking at the ground. She wasn’t sure what to think: the matter at hand with Dettlaff or her own personal problem with Regis. What a terribly time to have a meltdown.

“De la Croix… his death did not come easy. Seems Dettlaff had made friends with him. Still killed him and chopped up his corpse. Then he was overcome by fury, remorse. Cut off the hand that had committed the murder.”

“Hm. Interesting. And entirely unlike the Dettlaff I know. See anything else?”

Geralt took a moment before speaking again. Even Manon was listening up now.

“There was something, showed up twice in the vision – a bootblack’s stand. Dettlaff first met de la Croix there. Went back after the murder, actually…”

A bootblack… Manon could be of help in that case. There were several in the city, of course…

“Peculiar,” Regis said.

“Stand was somewhere in the port district. And the bootblack acted as if he knew Dettlaff.” Geralt got up from the bed.

Manon’s head shot up at the witcher. “I know him. I could bring you to him.”

Geralt looked surprised for a moment. “That’d spare me the search.” He smiled at her.

Regis pondered for a second before speaking: “We should chat with the lad, though I would expect no breakthroughs.”

“It’s our only lead. I’ll go talk to him. Coming with?”

Manon got on her feet, soothing down her dress. She should really change before going to the boy. But she awaited Regis’ answer.

He as well got up and went over to his bed, sitting down there. “I should join you later, if it’s no trouble. I don’t feel strong enough to venture out.”

“That’s fair. Rest up. Be back soon as we learn anything.”

As Geralt started to descend the steps, Manon was torn between staying with Regis and leaving with Geralt.

“We’ll still have time to talk – later. Go with Geralt, find the boy. I’ll join you.” The smile that followed was kind and honest.

She still felt bad for leaving, but she nodded and wished him well, before going downstairs.


End file.
